


Paint Me By Numbers

by engineerleopoldfitz (aching_for_distance), sakurazawa



Series: Yakuza-verse [2]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fitz knows Jemma too well, NSFW
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-08
Updated: 2014-11-10
Packaged: 2018-02-24 14:34:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2584862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aching_for_distance/pseuds/engineerleopoldfitz, https://archiveofourown.org/users/sakurazawa/pseuds/sakurazawa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A couple months after Jemma's return from the Yakuza, she's still nervous about the tattoos and how Fitz feels about them. Fitz, being Fitz, has a creative plan to change her mind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“Fitz! Package came in for you!” Ward called over to him as Fitz came up the cargo ramp. “It’s not SHIELD gear - came in a FedEx box - but I put it over at your lab station.” 

Fitz picked up his pace, hoping what he’d ordered online had finally caught up to the Bus in its travels. He snagged the shipping box - it was larger than he’d expected, but still easy enough to tuck under his arm - and took it upstairs to his bunk. He unpacked the carefully wrapped bottles and the set of brushes, setting them aside to read the letter enclosed. A grin spread over his face as he read it, the additional advice the store’s proprietor had sent along with the products, suggesting how to best use them. 

After stashing them away in one of his dresser drawers, he went hunting for Jemma. 

Jemma was in the lounge with the tablet, sorting through several hundred pages of forwarded research from SciOps biochem branch, while Skye, sitting opposite her, sorted through a data set Coulson had given her that had her leaning in one hand, clenching her curls into oblivion.

She was just about to suggest a tea break when Fitz walked in, looking for all the world like he’d tricked Father Christmas into giving up his present early.

"Fitz…" she said, a bit of suspicion in her tone, ”What have you requisitioned this time?"

“You’ll see,” was the only reply. He came up beside her chair and leaned over to press a kiss to Jemma’s hair, using the brief distraction to reach down and slip the tablet out of her hands. Fitz gave it a cursory glance and decided it wasn’t anything critical. “C’mon. I have a present for y’. Let’s go,” he urged, bouncing a little. He was pleased about this particular surprise. 

Jemma narrowed her eyes, peering up at him with a slightly suspicious smile. “Should I be just the slightest bit nervous?” she asked. Skye had looked up, watching the two of them with her chin in her hand and a slightly stupid smile.

"Um, Fitz looks like he just got away with something, and he said he has a present for you. I would be nervous. It’s not a monkey, is it?"

"Of course it’s not a monkey," Jemma dismissed. Then she reconsidered, looking up at Fitz with a partial grimace. "It’s not a monkey, is it?"

The engineer laughed and reached to grab Jemma’s hand, giving a tug, “No, is not a monkey. An’ no, Skye, y’ canna see. Not unless Jemma says y’ can. After she sees i’.” He tugged again and looked over at Skye, “I will owe y’ a favor if y’ tell anyone that comes lookin’ tha’ I’ve kidnapped Jemma for a couple hours.” 

"Sure, okay. But you know what that looks like, right?" Skye teased. "Looks like the kind of present I really don’t want to see."

"Don’t be stupid," Jemma said. "I’m a biologist. He’s an engineer. Why the hell would we need to _buy_ any-"

"Stop. Stop talking."

"-when we could just make-"

"I GET IT NO DON’T SAY IT."

Fitz burst into laughter, finally understanding. “She’s righ’ though,” he gasped between laughs, “Although now tha’ I think abou’ i’...” the Scot waggled his eyebrows at Jemma and ducked when she tried to thwap him. “Alrigh’, alrigh’. C’mon before I ge’ myself int’ trouble.” 

She stood and, still sniggering, latched onto his sleeve and let him draw her through the hallway. “What is it?” she asked, leaning her head toward his shoulder. “What have you done?” When he turns to give her a bit of a sour look at that, she pecks the end of his nose.

He guides her into his bunk and slides open the drawer to reveal the set of bottles and supplies. “Sooooo, y’ remember when we talked abou’ colorin’ in your tattoos, bu’ y’ didna wan’ t’ deal wi’ any more needles? I did some research an’ foun’ these. Native American plant dyes. Y’ jus’ pain’ them on - in layers if y’ wan’ a darker color - an’ let them be. They’ll fade out eventually on their own.” 

She stares for a minute, her chest giving an odd convulsion and her throat tightening ominously. “Fitz,” she said in mock admonishment. “If you wanted to get my clothes off, you could have asked.”

It might have worked if he hadn’t looked right at her as she spoke. A little of the happiness fell off Fitz’ face. “Wha’s wrong? Y’ dinna like i’.” There was hardly a hesitation between the statements. “Well… tha’s… okay. I mean, I did this wi’out askin’, so I didna know, but… I jus’ though’.” His own insecurities were very happy to step in and give him reason to doubt himself. 

Don’t be an idiot," she laughed, taking his face in her hands and kissing him. Hard. She walked him back into the bed until he fell onto it. She pulled away then, smirking at him as her hands went to the buttons of her blouse.

“Ahh, so. Y’... like th’ surprise, then?” Fitz said, his mouth suddenly dry. It had been two months since they’d gotten Jemma back from the Yakuza, and sometimes Fitz still couldn’t quite believe she was his. Especially when she did things like this, slowly exposing her skin to him with each button she twitched loose. He reached and caught Jemma’s hips, pulling her forward between his knees to press a kiss between her breasts. Fitz set his chin there and looked up at her, blue eyes adoring. “Wha’ was tha’ look for then? Y’ looked like y’ were about t’ cry for a secon’.” 

She smiled down at him, finishing the last button at her stomach and pulling the blouse back and off her shoulders. She’d never get tired of the way he looked at her, or of how he was finally learning to let himself touch when he wanted to. “Well, sometimes people cry when they’re feeling particularly happy. I could tell you biologically why, but I get the feeling you don’t really care at the moment.”

"No, as long as I didna upse' y'," he agreed. Fitz turned his head, scruff scratching against her pale skin when he laid his cheek against it. "It will be fun, even if no one else gets t' see i'." Jemma still wasn't comfortable with people seeing the ink, although she'd gotten less twitchy about the team seeing flashes of them at her neckline or hem or sleeve. 

"Yeah," she agreed. "I imagine it will be a bit cold, though. Prepare for lots of twitching." She dropped her blouse behind her and threaded her fingers around the back of his neck, holding his cheek warm and rough against her. His hands were making her a bit drowsy as he stroked gently up and down over the small of her back, fingers traveling from trouser waistband to skin and back.

Fitz closed his eyes for a long moment, simply letting himself bask in Jemma's presence, the warmth and scent and feel of her. She'd already been precious to him, but two months of really being with her without the restrictions they'd placed on themselves before had been wonderful, even though it'd been quite the learning experience for him. 

Some days he felt like he needed to pinch himself to remember this was real. This was his life now. The corners of Fitz' mouth curled ever so slightly and he craned his head to kiss the inside of her wrist. "I wouldna worry abou' th' cold as much as th' pain'brushes ticklin' you," he said, laughing softly. 

"Oh, that’s going to be an adventure," she said. His mouth on her wrist was warm, and she was starting to sink into a sort of consuming fuzz of contentedness. How had she managed to capture him? How had she spent so long without threading her fingers through his hair, or letting his smile fill her with warmth?

"I suppose we should get started," she said. "Before I start to get other ideas."

“Alrigh’,” Fitz nudged her back so he had room to stand, “Lie down an’ get comfortable.” He pulled the bottles and brushes out and lined them up where he could reach before following Jemma onto the bed and sitting with his hip pressed against hers. Fitz couldn’t help reaching to trace the tattoos, one finger following the line of the sinuous dragon that twined from her shoulder blade, over her ribs and down onto Jemma’s hip. 

Knowing these had been ordered, Fitz had time to think about what he wanted and selected a golden yellow and a wide, soft bristled paintbrush to start filling in the dragon. 

Jemma had tucked her hair over her shoulder, arms folded under the pillow beneath her chin. She braced herself for the cold, for the tickle of the paintbrush and reached out to clench her fingers in the bedspread, anticipating the tickle.

"I’m thinking about it now," she said. "Can you put your hand where you’re going to paint first? That way I won’t get startled by the brush and mess up your work."

Leo laid his left hand over the dragon’s head on her shoulder blade. “O’ course. I’m startin’ here, wi’ your dragon, so I’ll be workin’ this way,” he answered, tracing the figure again while dabbing the paintbrush into the thin liquid of the dye. After wiping the excess off the bristles, Fitz laid it against Jemma’s skin and drew it in a slow, steady line across the upper curve of the tattoo.

It wasn’t as bad as she’d thought. The ink was a bit cold, but dried quickly, and the point of heat where Fitz’s hand kept her skin warm was soothing. She wondered if he was thinking of filling in the parts of the tattoo that spread down her thighs, but decided not to ask. If he wanted to, she’d let him. Then again, he might not ask, even if he did want to.

He’d started with the dragon because it was the largest of the figures etched onto her skin. The serpentine curve arced out over her rib cage, swept to her back again above Jemma’s waist before twisting down over her arse and around her hip. It ended in a delicate swirl of ink just over her narrow hipbone. 

As close as they’d been prior to her kidnapping, their relationship had shifted and deepened to a point where it scared him a little, thinking about it. If someone had asked him three months ago, before she was taken, if he’d be comfortable doing this, he’d have laughed in their face. Even two weeks ago, before they’d made love the first time, he’d have hesitated before asking her to be this vulnerable. Not for himself, but out of worry for her.

Now though… Now Fitz would ask. And give her the choice, instead of shying away from a potential discomfort. Now he’d trust that she’d be honest if she was okay or not, like earlier when he’d read her expression. Before, he would have let it be, not pushed, and left that wall in place. They didn’t need those protections anymore and _that_, of all things, humbled him. 

She sighed, relaxing under his hands and the progress of the brush. It wasn’t as ticklish as she’d thought, at least not on her back. When they got to her hip or ribs, she wasn’t certain if she would be able to keep still. It was strange—she still had trouble sometimes believing that Fitz wasn’t at least a little repelled by the tattoos. At least he’d stopped getting that stony, angry face whenever he saw them.

But really, this was telling. This careful attention to detail, the way he palmed over her back… he wasn’t repelled. He had accepted them as part of her, and like he’d proven time and again since she returned, he was fascinated by every part of her. The way he’d looked at her, stretched out under him, his hands shaping down all her contours—it was like he was preparing to take apart something unearthly and perfect, memorize her design, learn her parts and her limits and her capacity. And that was sort of what he’d done, whispering soft things as he unraveled her with his strong hands and warm mouth, and she didn’t think she’d completely been put back together since.

Those thoughts needed to stop, though, or things could get a little messy. Just thinking about it was causing her belly to tense and warm, despite the fact that her back and arms were turning into wax.

"Can you just paint me every night before bed?" she said, her words a little slurred. "I’m about to pass out."

“Well… Hmm,” Fitz said thoughtfully. He’d intended to color in most of the tattoo in one sitting, but perhaps… He started thinking aloud, “Well, th’ dyes will fade over time. If we did a li’l a’ a time… By th’ time I finished the las’ bit, i’ would probably be time t’ redo th’ firs’ pieces.” It would be a new ritual for them, a private one, unlike their morning tea time, lab routines, or any of a hundred other ‘FitzSimmons’ quirks. 

Laughing softly, his voice rough and warm, he urged her up onto her side so he could continue onto her ribs and belly. “C’mon, Jem. I’m no’ done ye’, no goin’ t’ sleep.” 

The smell of the ink was filling up the room, but it wasn’t a bad or a toxic smell. “I think I could stand to have you paint just a little bit of me every day,” she mused.

She chuckled a little, turning where he told her to and hooking a leg around his waist. “Got you,” she said. “Now you’re…well, it’s not really manacled, is it, since it’s not your hands? Whatever. You can’t go anywhere until I say so…”

She was just talking now. Just teasing him, and it was hard to resist the urge to roll onto her (still wet) back, because it was hard to find somewhere comfortable to put her arm while laying on her side. Her forearm was pressed across her breasts, and though it wasn’t intentional, just the most comfortable place for it, she thought he might be less distracted from his work that way. “Enjoying yourself?”

Fitz grinned when she hooked her leg around him, “I wasna plannin’ on goin’ anywhere. An’ yeah, actually,” he admitted, “I’ve sor’ o’ been thinkin’ abou’ this since we firs’ talked abou’ i’. I dinna blame y’ for no’ wantin’ more tattoos, but is a shame t’ no’ have them colored in. You’re a walkin’ piece o’ art. Well, no tha’ you’re no’ beautiful wi’out the ink, because y’ are, bu’... oh, nevermin’.” Fitz blushed and went back to painting the dragon a deep yellow-gold. 

"Thank you," she said, because she knew what he meant and it was nice to hear it, nice to know that she could still make him fumble over his words like that. "At this rate, you’ll make me never want them inked in for real. Sort of poetic, too, don’t you think? You coloring me in."

She said it to make him blush more.

She succeeded. Fitz' face tinged pink, his original grin fading to a bashful smile. "Well, is no' like I mind. Y' wanted them colored an' y' didna want needles, so this was th' only acceptable compromise." He made a face at her, imitating the Jemma Simmons Nose-Wrinkle. "Now stop teasin' an' le' me finish the tickly bits on your side. I dinna want t' mess this up an' ge' dye everywhere."

"Have at, DaVinci," she chuckled, settling into the covers, thinking a little mess might be worth it to keep teasing. But it would irritate Fitz to color outside the lines, even if she didn’t mind. The brush slid over her ribs and she gasped, then held the breath and made a soft, closed-lipped squeal and clenched her eyes shut. 

Fitz laughed at her - he couldn't help it. It was cute, the way she scrunched her face up. He tried the same thing he'd done on her back, laying his palm over skin next to the area he was dyeing. Hopefully she'd focus on that and not the brushstrokes against her delicate skin. 

It seemed to help, at least a little, but he hurried through until the figure curled toward her back again. Fitz hooked a finger under the waist of her trousers and tugged gently. "You'll need t' pull these down. Or take them off. Whichever."

She grinned up at him, turning her hip into his hand. “Do it yourself,” she said, her voice resonating low in her throat, like it was fighting not to become a laugh. “You’re a rocket scientist. Don’t tell me you’re going to be defeated by a pair of women’s trousers.”

Fitz sucked in a breath. Just that husky tone alone did bad things to his libido, much less when she was telling him to take her clothes off. He leaned in to peer at her back and make sure the dye was dry before easing Jemma onto her back and fiddling with the button and zip of her dress slacks. "Are y' sure abou' tha', Jem?" He murmured, needing to be sure.

She looked up at him, the blue eyes meeting hers with the unspoken questions. Was she still okay? Was it too hard, or was she just trying to be brave? Was she still really actually truthfully trusting him with her body, her heart?

Silly of him, to keep asking. But sweet. And the questions weren’t the only thing she could see in his eyes—his pupils had dilated, and his gaze was skipping from her eyes to her lips, her arm over her chest, his hands on her trouser button. There was the way his lip quirked a little when she flirted with him. The slight flush at his ears and neck.

Was she sure about it?

"Come here," she said, lifting her arms toward him, affording him a good look at her uncovered body in the process. "Let me make sure.”

She loved this. The feeling of her hair spread out underneath her, of being vulnerable and powerful at the same time. Of being unafraid to put herself in someone’s hands, literally and physically and emotionally.

If Fitz took the open invitation - which was so, so tempting when she so openly displayed herself to him like that - he’d never finish the dragon tonight. He set the brush and bottle aside though, leaning down to kiss her, one finger stroking along her jawline. “Okay, I believe y’. I jus’... I dinna like t’ assume.” His other hand was deftly unbuttoning and unzipping her slacks before the other came down to join in, slipping them down over her hips when she lifted up from the bed. 

He hadn’t really had much chance to inspect the lower half of her tattoos - last time he’d gotten her naked he’d been far more interested in actually being with her - so he sat back up and inspected the rest of the design he could see. There were no surprises, only a continuation of the patterns and motifs elsewhere on her body. Fitz couldn’t resist the dragon though. He set his fingers against her skin and followed the path over her ribs and side again, calluses just barely touching her. 

She tensed a little as his hands passed lightly over her ribs, then lower, categorizing the designs on her body. She folded her arms under her chin and glanced back at him over her shoulder, watching him study the designs. Study her. She wiggled her knees a little, moving herself under his hands and smirking up at him. “You’re so focused.”

Fitz eyed her and reached over to cap the bottle of dye and set it back in the drawer with the other colors, tucking the paintbrush away too. “I’m always focused when i’ comes t’ you,” he said, glancing up at her with a smile lurking around his mouth while his hands traced down over her hip and onto her thigh. “Are y’ complainin’ abou’ tha’?”

She grinned in response. “N-nn,” she intoned, shaking her head just a little. “This is sort of unfair, though…” she said, bending a knee to tap at the back of his shoulder with her foot. “I mean… here I am wearing nothing but ink, and you’re up there with your tie still on.”

“Admi’ i’, y’ like my ties, though,” he teased. Fitz levered himself up over Jemma, knees on either side of her hips, forearms stretching along the bed on either side of her body so he could press a line of kisses up her spine to the back of her neck. “An’ I think y’ like when I do things like this, too.” 

By then, she couldn’t answer, not coherently. If the heat of his mouth up her spine hadn’t been enough, the drag of his tie up her body after it sealed her fate as a melted bundle of nerves. She pressed her face into the coolness of the pillow, nodding until he kissed her nape again. She shuddered, feeling warm and almost sedated, content at being trapped and teased and made to feel like the most loved girl on the planet.

Fitz had known for a long time that Jemma liked confined spaces, took comfort in them. When they had movie nights, she wedged herself between him and the wall. When she had a panic attack at the Academy she’d hide in the shadows under her desk. When they’d shared a flat, Jemma had a nest in the bottom of the hall closet. In the past two months he’d found that he could create the illusion of a small space for her and it worked just as well. Oftentimes, that could be as simple as the circle of his arms and letting her hide against him. 

The way she trusted him was humbling. He could feel the way her muscles melted, whatever tension she carried slipping away as though it never existed like it had a moment ago when he caught her under him. Fitz relaxed, still carrying most of his own weight, but pressed against Jemma from chest to hip while he nuzzled and teased at the soft skin over her neck and shoulder.


	2. Chapter 2

He was pressing her down into the mattress, his body fitting the contours of hers, closing off the world and giving her safety. She let out a sigh as he focused his attention on her neck and shoulder, her whole body filling with a buzzing brightness that seemed to tingle down to her fingertips. He knew her too well, knew well enough just how to make her limp and warm, turned on but too loose-limbed to do anything about it. It was up to him what direction he took it, and with Fitz, it was never certain—he was reserved, careful, and deliberate in everything. This was one area she’d not had enough experience with him in to learn his signs, or his triggers.

She wiggled just a little under him. “…teasing me…” she murmured, sounding not even slightly sober.

Glancing over at the door, Fitz double-checked to make sure it was locked before lifting himself up again. “Shhh,” he soothed when she let out a soft, disappointed noise. “I’m no’ goin’ anywhere.” Without having to brace himself he could use his hands, laying them both wide over her shoulders and running them down either side of her spine before following with his mouth. He shuffled down the bed as he went, until he was peppering soft kisses at the small of her back, his hands gripping her hips. 

He’d always thought she was pretty, then beautiful once she’d grown up, and he’d wanted her the whole time, but Fitz hadn’t counted on how sexy it would be to have her pliant and willing under his hands. 

Somewhere along the way, she’d started blushing, felt the heat as it crept from all the places his mouth touched and spread up her body. She knew her face was pink, yet she couldn’t stop the smile that pushed up the corners of her mouth. The last time they’d been together, it had been with the lights out, only the dim working lights of the clock and the electronic power indicators illuminating them. There had been suggestion of shape, but they’d done everything mostly by feel, and that had been an excellent introduction in its own right.

This was nice, though. More than nice. She’d stopped pretending he wasn’t turning her on, because he was, and she didn’t really feel like being ashamed of it just now. His hands on her hips, his lips leaving little spots of stimulated nerves at attention on her back, she thought she could probably just stay this way forever, basking in his attention, aroused enough to feel every caress of his thumb and lips with aching detail, but still lazy enough not to push for more.

His fingers tightened on her hips and one hand tugged on her gently. “Turn over,” he murmured, lifting away to give her room. Fitz wanted to see her, see that warm, slightly secretive smile that he was still getting used to seeing on her face, the one that said she knew she was wanted and wanted him in return. 

She twisted her hips as he pulled her, followed with her shoulders and reached up to lazily push back her hair as she did. One knee was up, her foot propped on the mattress, the other stretched out on the other side of his hip. She watched his eyes, the way they swept down over her, and snuggled herself down into the mattress a bit, her lips drawing up into a smile as she watched him look at her, the expression on his face would never get old, though this might be the first time she’d seen it fully in the light.

It made her feel just slightly vulnerable, to be fully illuminated, but she enjoyed that vulnerability a little, enjoyed the way it made her stomach twist and her pulse speed up, the anticipation of reaction. She had a feeling he wasn’t going to complain. She was no field agent, just slenderness and soft curves and what little tone she’d gained from working on her feet and moving things around the lab. There wasn’t much powerful or strong about her, but where the tattoo wasn’t darkening her skin, she was pale and unmarked by anything but the dust of light freckles all over her skin.

Fitz leaned back in, both his hands curving around her upraised thigh and sliding down to her hip and then up onto her belly. He was careful to bypass the soft curls between her thighs, because even though he was turned on by this, he was enjoying the quiet intimacy too much to press things further just yet. The closest he got was the kiss he pressed to her hipbone before following his hands up her body. 

Intently focused on her, he wasn’t paying attention to the drape of his tie, a secondary teasing brush of fabric against her skin as he played with her body. He unconsciously repeated his affectionate gesture from when she first undressed as well, laying his cheek against Jemma’s chest for a long moment. 

She had already let her arms drape behind her head, though she tensed a bit as his lips made a warm mark on the inner curve of her pelvic bone. She relaxed again as he moved higher, though his tie was dragging maddeningly where his hands had not gone. If she didn’t know him better, she would have thought he’d done that on purpose. But Fitz wasn’t quite that calculating. Not yet. He could probably become so, given time and familiarity, but for now, he was just exploring. Just being with her, touching and basking in the intense comfort of intimacy.

She let one hand stray down to his face as he pressed it to her chest, sliding her fingers under his jaw and around the back of his neck to hold him in place. It felt like he was listening to her heart, like he was letting her hold him against her, letting her cradle him a bit even while he had her totally in his power. She liked that feeling--that they were always somehow equal, even though he was clearly the dominant partner, she had her own strength. He was slowly helping her to realize that her vulnerability was, in a way, a kind of strength.

But his tie. His tie was going to drive her batty. She slid her hand down to the knot and tugged. “That is probably unintentional torture, but it needs to come off or you’re going to have to have it cleaned.”

He stilled, confused, until he glanced down, realized what he’d done and blushed. “Ah. Yeah, tha’ wasna on purpose.” Fitz lifted to let her work the knot loose and tug it up over his head, but when she was done he settled down again, his weight pinning her lower body, ear pressed against her chest where Jemma’s heartbeat was a reassuringly steady beat. Fitz’ hand slid up though, to splay over her ribs, the curve from his thumb up to his index finger mirroring the underside of her breast, barely touching. 

She sighed, settling in to pet his hair and the back of his neck, winding one of her legs over his thigh to hug him closer there. It was a little hard to believe it had been seven weeks since she’d come home, only three since the tattoo had healed entirely, even with her ministrations and Fitz’s careful application of the analgesic spray she’d armed him with. It had healed enough for most things, but, well…

She still had nightmares, of course, but she’d stopped jumping at every strange sound, fearing an intruder. She’d worked with Ward on some basic self-defense (even though she was fairly certain she was horrible at it and he was just humoring her when he said ‘good job’),

But the one thing that had helped return her to normal had been the one thing that she’d not quite had before, and that was the security of Fitz. Not in the sense that she hadn’t been comforted by him before, but in the sense that she knew they were on the same page, now. That they had committed themselves to each other in a way they hadn’t done before. That he was going to be there to hold her after her nightmares, to blush when she groped him in the lab, to get revenge for it when he got her alone in his room. It was the happiness of being together, unrestrained by their previous barriers, which had really let her be vulnerable enough to grieve what had happened so she could start to heal properly.

Moments like this were exactly what she would have prescribed to herself had she known their restorative powers. Of course, now she did know.

“I’m prescribing you to myself,” she said, not certain he’d pick up on the train of thought, and almost as amused by the thought of his confusion. 

Fitz laughed, his stubble scratching against her skin, breath washing warm over her breast and his own hand. “Oh, really? In wha’ dosage, Doctor Simmons?” He lifted his head to look at her, amused by the statement and a little curious what she was thinking, “An’ wha’ symptoms am I supposed t’ be treatin’?” 

“All of them,” she said. “All symptoms. You’re like a panacea of sorts, I think. As for dosage…” she skimmed her fingers down his neck, over his shoulders. “I’ll have to think about that. Might have to do some tests, see what works.” The laugh-like bubble of happiness was back, swelling in her chest and threatening to overwhelm her. She rubbed his upper arms, wondering how she’d ever gone without being capable of just staring into his eyes.

Grinning, Fitz levered himself up to kiss her, one hand going back to its previous mission of searching out every inch of her skin. She’d lost that dreamy look that had been in her eyes when she’d first turned over and Fitz wanted it back. After her mouth, he slid down to lavish gentle attention to her ears and neck and collarbone, smiling against her skin when he found the spots that made her shiver and tremble beneath him.

She gave a soft whimper when his tongue traced the length of her collarbone, and suddenly found it very, very unfair that he was pushed up over her, too far down to hold onto properly. The general direction of his progress sent tendrils of desire into the pit of her stomach, and she abandoned her attempts to hold onto him, lifting both hands over her head, where her hair was still spread out on the comforter. His hands skimmed over her, waking up her drowsy nerves, inciting little flickers of sensation to sparking in her brain. She slid her bent knee back up, pressing it against his side so the tight weave of his dress shirt dragged across it, and propped her thigh under his arm. He would either have to change the position of his arm or stay where he was, kissing along her collarbone and chest.

Fitz chuckled, warm breath huffing against Jemma’s skin as he stroked down to run his hand up her thigh. It was the one with the tattoos, and he lingered there, fingers tracing the raised edges of the lines of ink before he drew away again, this time to shift away, sitting on the edge of the bed to start twitching loose the cuffs of his shirt. 

Jemma let her leg rest across his lap, watching as he undid his cuffs, a little perplexed at how just that slight suggestion of him undressing made her breath hitch. There was something sexy about it, the deliberateness of it. No tearing off of clothes or impassioned jerking of hands from cuffs. Just the deliberate slide of a button, the opening of the sleeve at the wrists. She was tempted to sit up and take over, but part of her wanted to see what it was like, what torture she’d put him through earlier, controlling the reveal. She sighed tightening her legs on either side of him, enjoying the way his gaze focused on her, the twitch of his expression, then the return of focus to his cuffs.

“You’ll let me know if you need a third hand, won’t you?” she said, her voice gravelly and soft.

He hesitated, glancing over at her again then gave a slight shake of his head and a faint, knowing smile, “I’ve go’ it.” Cuffs loosened, it didn’t take more than a few moments to loosen the buttons down the front of the shirt - it was older, the fabric soft and broken in. Fitz’ hands left the tails trailing and curled his fingers around her leg, hands stroking down her skin as he gently lifted it and ducked under. Standing up, the unbuttoned shirt went first, then Fitz caught the hem of his undershirt and tugged it up over his head. 

The seven weeks of working with Ward since Jemma’s return had made appreciable changes in his shoulders and arms and given him a bit of toning everywhere else. Fitz had a moment of gratitude for that - it made him less self-conscious than he might have been before. 

She watched him strip off the shirts, drawing in a deep sigh of satisfaction as his body slid into view. He was pale, or course, slender. But there was solidity to him, a sort of graceful, streamlined tuck of musculature. Where his clothing might lead one to expect a flat plane between his pelvic bones, there was volume and shape, just a hint of lower abdominals in the start of that vee visible above the waist of his trousers. His lower back and hips, his shoulders and the way his trapezius emphasized the lines of his clavicle, there were so many places to look at and admire, so many things she could think of to do to them, to explore him in ways both scientific and completely, messily biological that she couldn’t help but bite the insides of her cheeks against what was probably a bit of a lascivious grin.

“You going to do the rest, or leave that for me?” she asked.

Fitz hadn’t planned to let her help, but that smile - that one that said ‘I am thinking of all the naughty things’ - did him in. He leaned down over the bed as though he was going to kiss her, but his lips only hovered over hers, a breath away, teasing. “I suppose I can use an extra hand or two,” he murmured after a long moment. 

He pushed back up, deliberately withdrawing from her personal space. Fitz had noticed that whenever they were close, Jemma resisted when he moved away, always shifting to follow where he went. Not that he was complaining - he did the same thing - but it made him smile every time and this was no different. His lips curved up involuntarily. 

Her hands shot out, grabbing his belt and yanking him back toward her. “Tease,” she accused, and unbuckled it. She let the loosed ends of the belt hang, tucking the fingers of both hands in behind his button, thumbs still caught at the waistband. She dragged her fingers softly from side to side, barely a centimeter in either direction, letting the backs of her knuckles graze across his skin, across the line of hair that started under his navel and led down. She popped the button with one hand, keeping a hold on his trousers with the other as she let the first hand track up his stomach.

The muscles of his stomach jumped and twitched and Fitz let out a strangled laugh at the mix of ticklish sensitivity and pleasure at the way she was touching him. He reached for her unthinkingly and leaned in for another kiss. He’d gotten addicted to the taste of Jemma in the past few weeks and now was no exception. If anything it was even more of a priority, a silent ‘I love/want/need you’ every time his lips touched hers. Fitz was pretty sure Jemma understood. She’d developed quirks of her own with him since her time with the Yakuza. 

She leaned back, drawing him with her and making quick work of his zip. Part of her was jealous of his un-inked skin… but there were enough scars, enough evidence of his desperate and lonely adolescence, that she couldn’t feel bad for too long.

She didn’t move his trousers down his hips, instead, electing to slide her hands around to the small of his back, then down under the fabric, hands curling around his rear and dragging him down to her. She felt his boxers and his trousers gathering at her wrists, but didn’t quite feel like giving him the satisfaction of taking them off yet. It was more fun to have her hands down his clothes in a more frustrating way, giving him something to think about while he kissed her.

Fitz hissed at the faint drag of her nails over his skin. It didn’t hurt, but it definitely got his attention. This was still too new, too unfamiliar, the one place where he didn’t already know Jemma inside and out, to risk teasing her too much. He let Jemma tug him where she wanted, their bodies melting against each other from their chests down to where his hips pressed firmly against hers. Fitz couldn’t help the instant reaction to that feeling, his forehead dropping against Jemma’s shoulder while slowly grinding against her. 

The brightness of pleasure flashed through her as his hips shifted against her, bringing his arousal firmly in place, no longer teasing with his hands or his tie. She heard him groan, and it brought a secondary wash of bright sensation up through her at the low, gravelly sound of it in his chest. It gave her a thrill of pride, knowing she had his undivided attention, knowing she was capable of drawing those sounds from him. The fabric of them slid along the inside of her thighs, his belt dragging along her hipbones. She pulled him tighter to her and lifted her hips, meeting his movements with her own, not certain how much longer she was going to be capable of not shoving his trousers and pants down his hips.

It was already too much and not enough, and if she kept rubbing against him like that, it was going to be over before it had even really started. Just being with her - being able to really _see_ her this time - was driving him more than a little crazy. Fitz lifted enough to shove his pants off, but came back to settle at Jemma's side, his arousal pressed against her hip while his hand settled low on her belly to rub teasingly against her.

She whined a little when he moved off of her, but a moment later, when he’d settled at her side and trapped one of her legs with his, his hand sliding low on her abdomen, she relented. Jemma turned her head, nudging her nose against his and looking at him, watching his face, twitching hers into a smile she couldn’t really help as his hand cupped the slight curve of her belly, just below her navel. She liked these little caresses, these sweet touches that reminded her it was Fitz, and he didn’t just want her--he loved her. Adored her, even. She certainly felt adored when he did that, when he just looked at her, spread his warm hands over her skin just for the feel of it.

She sighed, content, even if all the heat in her body was converging behind his hand, smoldering low in her belly. She felt her own arousal answering his, the taut, swollen feeling that ached for the relief of touch, friction. Not yet. She could wait, wait for him to settle down a little, because he was conspicuously far along against her thigh. “I’m flattered,” she said, and leaned into his lips before he could blush about it.

Fitz hadn’t done this for her before. There hadn’t really been time and they were still figuring each other out. Of course he’d spent time just petting her, because he really did adore her. The fact that she’d chosen him to get to be with her like this still floored him when he thought about it. 

He dropped a kiss on her shoulder, his arm finding its way under her neck to cradle her against his shoulder while the hand on her belly slipped down into her soft curls, one callused finger tracing through her folds. From her earlier reactions, he wasn’t surprised to find her already warm and wet for him. Granted, it wasn’t helping his own arousal in the slightest, but it was easier to control himself this way than it was when he was grinding against her, so close to where he really wanted to be. 

She inhaled sharply, the fact that she’d expected his hand to wander there didn’t really prepare her for what it was going to feel like. The anticipation had probably made her that much more sensitive. And then he was touching her, callused fingers moving over nerves and sliding down, curling into her. She clenched her fingers in the covers beneath her. “God, Fitz,” she whispered, spine bowing up from the bed. She turned her face into his shoulder, and as his fingers rubbed forward along her folds, then slid back to dip inside her again, she let out the rest of her breath in a shuddering exhale. “Fitz. Jesus.”

Frissons of pleasure were rippling up into her abdomen, and she felt her mind start to detach.

“Oh no, y’ don’,” Fitz murmured, easing his hand back and nuzzling against her cheek. “Shhh. Y’ dinna have t’ rush. I could do this all day,” he admitted, “So slow down an’ jus’ enjoy.” He leaned a little closer to playfully nip at her earlobe as his hand returned to tease, ever so slowly sinking two fingers in, the heel of his palm pressed against her, barely moving. Fitz really did just want to watch her, cataloguing the hitch of her breath, the way she trembled when he brushed against her, the involuntary clench of her fingers against his skin. The few times they’d had sex before, once he was inside her everything shut off and he couldn’t simply enjoy her. Now that he’d discovered how much he liked it, she might actually be in trouble, because he couldn’t imagine ever tiring of this. 

She took a few steady breaths, which he seemed to be doing his level best to disrupt. One of them turned into a groan when his still fingers finally curled a bit, adding extra pressure where his knuckles and fingertips pushed against her walls. She’d already felt the lift in her abdomen, knew she could explain the exact physiological changes--increased blood flow causing not only the swelling of her labia, but the heightened temperature, and that ache was her cervix elevating, her walls expanding. God, she didn’t want to think about science right now, though. She liked the idea that Fitz was working his long, dexterous fingers into her, touching her and taking her apart slowly, observing and making mental notes.

It was a little embarrassing, of course, to be watched. But at the same time, it wasn’t, because when she felt her face spasm in sympathy with the twitch of her passage around him, she knew it was feedback, expected him to test the movement again, scientific and a little mischievous. 

And God, she loved him for it.

He waited, patiently, until she relaxed under his touch. Not completely, because he was still carefully playing with her, but enough that her sudden, frantic climb to orgasm eased off to a more gradual rise. Jemma snuggled further in against his shoulder and Fitz caught her mouth with his for a deep, drugging kiss, rocking his fingers into her at an agonizingly slow, steady pace, his fingers crooked to rub up against her g-spot on each pass. 

Fitz’ leg over hers kept her somewhat pinned, but what movement Jemma could manage was rocking her against him where he pressed up against her hips, and he ended up groaning in pleasure against her mouth. 

The knee he wasn’t pinning slid up, opening her a bit more so his hand could get an easier angle. She was melting around his fingers, making soft, truncated whimpers into his mouth as the slow, deliberate thrusts brought his rough fingertips over a sensitive cluster of nerves, sending a bright flicker of sensation through her, which seemed to grow warmer and stronger the more he did it. She groaned against his lips, twisting her hips a little because she needed him to do it more, to rub harder there, but he was determinedly steady, keeping her stimulated, aching for more. “Fitz,” she pouted. “You are not playing fair…” the thought was cut off by a high, soft “Ah...” as his rhythm brought him back over that spot.

He twitched against her hip and she shifted a little into him, giving him a little taste of the same torture.

The fluttering tremble of her muscles around his fingers told him all too well when he’d found the right spot. Fitz’ hand stilled, the vaguely thrusting motion halted. He twisted his hand, rubbing inside with two fingers and gently strumming against her clit, still experimenting to find what she liked best. He considered sliding down and using his tongue, too, but then he wouldn’t be able to keep her close like this, feeling every little reaction with her snuggled against him. 

Her legs went tense, her lungs hitching as he rubbed into that sensitive spot and a wash of relieved pleasure spread up her like bright surf. The pitch of her voice dropped, a breathy moan escaping from her chest as she tucked her head into his shoulder. His thumb was stroking across her clit gently, and she felt herself twitching just a little, bucking up softly in encouragement. “That…” she murmured, but couldn’t quite articulate the rest. “God, Fitz.”

That was the particular moan he’d been waiting for. Fitz’ free hand rose to brush his knuckles lightly against her flushed cheek, noting the faint sheen of sweat over her skin. This was impossibly more intimate than actually being inside her, making her come apart under his hands while one step removed so he could be in control, watching, adjusting to be whatever it was she needed right then. “Tha’s i’,” he murmured against her skin, tenderly brushing kisses over her face, where he could reach it. “God, you’re beautiful. There, jus’ le’ i’ happen,” he urged her, rubbing a little harder, faster, each time her breath hitched.

She had to close her eyes, block out the stimuli of everything but his touch and his voice. He was rubbing right into that bed of nerves, and she moaned again when she realized he wanted her to come, wasn’t just trying to get her ready for the next step. He wanted to make her come around his fingers, and just that… just that thought sent a rush of heat to her abdomen, and she felt his fingers moving easier across her g-spot, the soft grind of rough fingertips slicker and easier. His whispers against her skin barely registered after that, just the tone of them, sweet, rough, encouraging, and safe. 

Her ascent was fast, her brow drawing as she forced her spine not to arch, knees sliding wide as his hold would let them. She felt herself clenching in anticipation, shocks of pleasure growing stronger and deeper as he worked, and God, didn’t his hand get tired... Her fingertips went numb as sensation gathered in her core, winding up in a tight knot.

Fitz clutched her closer to him, groaning softly when she grabbed hold of his hip and sank her fingers in, holding on tight. She was so close, but not quite there... He twisted his hand, ignoring the ache in his wrist and changed the angle, letting him swipe his thumb more firmly over her clit, rewarded by another broken gasp. "Is okay, sweetheart," he murmured low against her skin. His mouth was dry, watching her, and it made his voice rasp in his throat, hoarsely, "Come on. Almos' there..."

He edged her into it, and just like the start of a fall, there was a moment of lightness, a moment where she felt like she was elevating from the bed, and then the arc of it passed its peak and she was crashing down, unspooling that knot of heat inside her. She was clenching hard and fast around him, her hips twisting down into his hand. She didn’t even care that her breath was raking over her vocal cords, drawing out shuddering cries she barely had the presence of mind to keep soft.

The tide of it drew out, until finally, she had to reach down and push at his wrist, the shocks of orgasm becoming almost painful with overstimulation. She shuddered, twisted herself against him, and buried her sweaty brow against his shoulder. She couldn’t think, even if she wanted to say something, she couldn’t remember how to put words together.

His own breathing was unsteady when he drew her in against him, murmuring soft, senseless endearments into her hair. Fitz wrapped her up against him, soothing her with gentle strokes down her back. She was trembling in his hold and hiding her face and he wondered if he'd pushed too far, too fast. Sliding down further in the bed to put his face level with hers, he peppered her face with soft kisses. "Tha' was... I dinna even know how t' describe i'," he said softly.

“Don’t describe it, you’ll embarrass me,” she whispered back, catching his mouth and kissing him back. “Jesus, Fitz,” she said dragging her lips down his chin, her arm sliding around his waist to hug him close. Her whole body was still buzzing, as if he’d electrified her and the occasional twitches were aftershocks, energy expressing itself in short sparks of static. She nudged her knee between his. Pressing forward against him, feeling him still aroused and warm against her stomach. “If you’re still thinking about trying to talk me into letting you get a monkey, now’s the moment. Just so you’re aware. Or really, probably the moment was about ninety seconds ago.”

He laughed, relieved, and cupped her face in his hands, thumbs stroking her cheeks. "Tha' wen' better than I'd expected," he admitted, still pressing kisses against her skin. "An' I'll eventually wear y' down abou' th' monkey wi'out resortin' to that' sor' o'..." He almost said manipulation, but realized it sounded terrible. "Wi'out any o' that'," he amended. Fitz nudged her back, happy that he'd pleased her, and pinned her gently to the bed, his weight shifting over hers. 

She snorted. “Probably won’t,” she said, grunting just a little as he moved his weight onto her. He wasn’t heavy, and she liked the pressure of him over her, the way she sank a little deeper into the mattress and his chest pressed to hers, leaving her covered and protected from the open air of the room. She slid her hands up his back, then down again, wondering if she could stand any more stimulation after that. Not that it would take her very long to be all right again, probably.

She was feeling lazy, her thoughts coming at a syrupy pace as she craned her neck up and kissed him, trying to draw him back down with her. Part of her wanted to reciprocate, but something told her her brain was a bit shorted out, and his goal was something else. She licked across the part of his lips softly. “Give me just a minute,” she said, sliding her hands down to his hips and stroking down the outsides of his thighs. “Just kiss me for a minute…”


	3. Chapter 3

Fitz let her draw him down, understanding what she wanted. There were times when the weight of her sprawled over him was an odd comfort in itself and it wasn’t hard to conceive that might be the same for Jemma. “Is no rush,” he murmured, “No’ like I’m goin’ anywhere. Jus’ tell me if I ge’ too heavy or y’ wan’ me t’ move.” His arms settled on either side of her shoulders, only lifting himself enough to not get a crick in his neck, because if he let himself and she didn’t draw him back, Fitz would get lost in kissing Jemma for hours. She never had to ask, really, but she seemed to like doing so anyway. 

Kissing Fitz was like having a silent conversation, one that used all the language they didn’t have for the things they couldn’t put into words. The texture of his tongue over hers, the way she could sometimes get him to sigh when she drew the kiss long and firm, not letting him move until every nerve ending sensed the exact pressure and temperature of their lips together, until their breaths matched and his hands tugged at her like he needed to find something to hold onto, like she was drowning him and he welcomed it. She liked doing that to him, just as much as she liked the reply when she was through.

He was in the mood to tease though, and didn’t let her get the upper hand. His mouth hovered over Jemma’s, a breath away, and when he did dip down it was to catch her lower lip between his, nipping at it carefully before soothing the faint sting with his tongue. The next kisses were soft, almost delicate, Fitz’ quiet attempt to keep himself from getting too worked up again before she was ready for anything else to happen. 

One of the things Jemma enjoyed the most about being stretched out under him was the unimpeded use of both hands. As he kissed her--or, more accurately, toyed with kissing her--she was able to get both arms around him, touch every part of him as far as her reach extended. Her hands slid up his back, following the line of his muscles, which she identified in her head as her fingers found them. Lattissimus dorsi, lower trapezius, deltoids, then back down along his spine, her fingers trailing over the warm skin, making small circles between each vertebra until she reached his lower back.

His teeth were nipping at her lower lip, sending pleasant little stings through her senses. She made a soft noise as he soothed the pain with his tongue, and flattened her palms over the warmth of his hips. She slid them down, exploring the contours of his hip and upper thighs, tugging him down with fingers curved around the backs of his legs. She nudged her nose against his and tried to capture his mouth again, seeing if he would let her, or if he was still determined to tease.

He gave in when Jemma got insistent in trying for another, real, kiss. Fitz caught her mouth with his, trying to ignore the stroke of her fingers on his legs and hips. If he thought too hard on it, he was going to rush and that was the last thing he wanted. Especially when this was still so new and he wanted to make sure that he didn’t give her an excuse to say no. Fitz wasn’t sure he could take being rejected by her in any way. His arms found their way under her shoulders when Jemma lifted to follow his mouth, with Fitz cradling her there, one hand supporting her head against the pressure of his mouth on hers. 

That was better. She sank into the feeling of him kissing her, relaxing under his weight and letting the protective circle of his arms secure her. After the abduction, there hadn’t really been anything quite so effective in grounding her as Fitz holding her. Something about the grip of arms around her, the living press of his body against hers, was reassuring. More so when she recalled some of the horrific effects of the serum the yakuza had tried to force her to perfect, because it felt like his hands were holding her together, keeping her inside her own body somehow. Or maybe it was just the physical evidence that he was safe, that she was safe, and not where the needles of their tattoo artist or the seductive confusion of Dr. Sakurai’s measured tone could touch her.

And it was nice, because he made her feel beautiful. Despite, or really, including, the tattoo that was now a part of what she was. It was in many ways like Coulson’s scar--evidence of the trauma she’d been through, a reminder that there was no returning to the perspective she’d had and the sense of safety she’d felt on the bus before.

So maybe it was really that Fitz made her feel safe, because the bus itself no longer did. It had been breached before, and despite all the failsafes they’d put in place, she no longer believed it couldn’t happen again. But Fitz? He wasn’t going anywhere. And as long as he was holding her, they weren’t going anywhere without each other. Not without a fight both of them would be prepared never to leave. She wouldn’t let him be taken away, or let herself be taken from him. And though she’d not decided to confirm it, she was fairly certain he felt the same.

But he was kissing her now, and those thoughts were sliding away, melting along with the last of her resolve. His tongue was inside her mouth, sliding over hers, and her brain was starting to make connections, form sympathetic needs elsewhere, and as she felt herself going tight and achingly warm again, she hummed into the press of his mouth. Tugged at his hips and lifted hers a little. She pulled back enough to slide her mouth over his chin, barely kissing as she dragged her lips up the line of stubble, around the curve of his jaw to his ear, and whispered, “I want you,” before tugging him down again.

Fitz didn't think he'd ever tire of hearing those words. Or the little catch in her voice when she said them. After those seventeen days without her, realizing just how large a hole her absence left in his life, Fitz had found himself treasuring every moment he got to spend with her now. Exploring these new facets of her, of their relationship, being able to show her how he felt was never going to get old. 

Jemma pressed up against him a second time, seeking, and as much as Fitz wanted to keep teasing, pleasing her was far more important. His arms were still under her shoulders, and he curled a hand around the back of her neck, burying his face in the curve of her shoulder as he slowly pushed into her. 

Her breath rushed out as he breached her, and the slow, controlled push set her arching up into him, her lower back leaving the mattress as the shape of him pressed into her clenching walls. Her heels dug into the mattress as he passed the reach of his fingers, stretching her deeper, and she yielded for him. There was nothing like this, nothing like the way it felt to have him inside her, pushing deeper, searching for the extremes of physical closeness as if they were convinced their bodies had no limits between them, that if they just tried hard enough, they could melt the boundaries.

Until they did, she was happy to keep trying, because no other experiment they’d conducted together quite compared. She’d been a little afraid it would be too much, or that she wouldn’t be able to get off again so soon, but from the way she was already soaking him, already getting those deep jolts of pleasure nothing else could earn, she didn’t think it was going to be a problem. “Fitz,” she whispered. “Fitz, yes, that’s perfect, that’s...hell, that’s amazing. Keep...oh fuck, oh fuck,” and he was full hilt inside her, and the pulse in her was growing deeper and tighter.

All the partners she’d had in her life, and he was the only one who made her cuss. And he did it without trying. He unraveled her with just one, slow, deliberate thrust, and his mouth against her collarbone, and his skin on hers. A groan build in her chest, and she dug her nails into his back. No, she would have no problems coming again, not with Fitz. Not with the person she loved wrapped tight around her and buried deep. She let out a soft sigh, following it with more words. “God, you’re perfect,” she murmured. “For me. Perfect for me. I love you, Fitz. I love being close to you like this. I...god, I want you.”

Fitz hadn’t been a virgin before her, but none of the others had ever made him feel like he was about to burn alive. Between the physical heat of her body pressed against him, closing around him, the slick slide of sweat and sex, added into the emotional intensity between them, spontaneous combustion felt like a serious possibility

Maybe it was better they’d waited so long to take the next step. This would have burned them both out if they’d given into it while they’d still been at Uni, the Academy or Sci-Ops. They hadn’t been ready then, not for anything like this. It had taken trial by - sometimes literal - fire on the Bus to get them here. 

He could feel her trembling, both in general and around him where they were so intimately joined, and he shivered as well at her whispered words. Fitz hadn’t expected Jemma to be vocal like this, but he would never complain. Not when hearing her words, gasped out between whimpers and quiet moans, only encouraged him to take her higher, make her feel more, make sure she never wanted to leave him. 

Bottoming out inside her, Fitz set his teeth against her neck. He didn’t bite in, but the gentle threat was there, scraping against her fair skin while he slipped his free hand down her body just for the pleasure of touching her and hearing her response. Jemma’s sigh pressed her up against his chest and the words she whispered against his ear brought his head up so he could kiss her breathless. Well. More breathless. 

She got lost in the next few moments, winding her arms around him and opening up to his kiss and the slow syrup of oblivion pouring into her brain as he started up a gentle churn in her, just feeling and shifting, not even drawing out enough to really make anything like a thrust. She let out a shuddering sigh, her knees sliding higher up his hips as the movement stirred new nerves to life. She bit at his lip a little in revenge, because she wasn’t thinking straight enough to say anything anymore, and retaliation for the way he was making her feel seemed appropriate. Or, participation anyway. She wound her arms tight around him and closed her eyes, letting him have his control, focusing on how perfect it was to have him with her, to be allowed--whether it was allowed or not--to be this close to him, to love him as hard with her body as she did with the rest of her.

Fitz laid his forehead against hers, biting his own lip sharply when he finally let himself move. For all Jemma got impatient with him, he’d learned enough from prior partners to know that while fast had its place sometimes, taking his time would work out better for both of them in the end. He rocked into her with short thrusts, angling to rub over the bundle of nerves he’d discovered before and rub against it on each pass. 

She felt the tension in her legs go as he gave the first few thrusts, short, searching for reaction. And then he found the spot that made her choke on a cry, knotting her brow against his even as she gasped in a few sharp breaths. He did it again, slower, figuring her out, then found a rhythm that slowly wound the tension back into her legs. She slid her hands down to his hips, letting him slide past them, just feeling the way he moved under them, his skin gliding under her palms as he moved inside her. She pressed her forehead up against his, loving the sound of his breath and the soft groans and gasps they made without thinking about it.

He peppered kisses over her face and down her jawline, onto her neck, swapping to gentle nips when he reached her shoulder. His fingers tightened involuntarily at the back of her neck and Fitz settled his hips and legs so he could keep the angle, the one that made her pant and gasp beneath him. “Jemma…” he muttered out, voice gone low and hoarse, rasping out, “God, you’re amazin’... jus’... perfec’...” 

She groaned again, arching up into his chest as he spoke, flooding with heat from her belly to her toes, and then feeling the warmth wash up her chest and face. “Fitz,” she sighed, mouthing at his ear and temple as he moved up and back past her lips. “Fitz, god… come on… come on, Fitz. I need you,” her fingers curled, digging into his lower back as she felt the pitch of her needs shift. “I want to feel you lose it,” she whispered. “Stop controlling yourself.”

How could he resist when she said it that way? Fitz gripped her hip, maybe a little tighter than he’d intended as he picked up the pace. It wasn’t nearly as measured, not able to reliably hit the same places within her, but from the choked gasp that Jemma let out into his ear, he was doing something right. He moaned against her skin, feeling like he couldn’t breathe from the way his chest was tightening, but it wasn’t just his chest, it was his entire body, back to feeling like he was ready to burn alive. 

There it was, some of the animal she’d suddenly wanted to draw out, some of the loss of control she wanted to inspire. Everything with him was so measured and precise, so premeditated and based on thought and observation… she’d wanted him to just feel. To just hold on and do what instinct told him. She’d wanted to be the one to make him lose his grip on reality the way he did her, and though he was still clearly aware of himself, this was closer. It wasn’t the slow burn, the devastating pleasure he could call up with those skills, but she’d stopped caring about her own physical pleasure so much.

As he thrust into her, pace slightly erratic, muscles moving under the tightening grip of her hands, she felt a new sort of pleasure racing through her. The feeling of being wanted, of wanting to please him, and getting just as much satisfaction from the deep groan in his chest as from the jolts of pleasure when he hit the mark inside her. She moved with him, bracing her heels against the bed, tilting her hips to match his rhythm.

She just wanted him. She wanted him real and unthinking and rough and human and unguarded. Because it was a guard, in many ways, that precision, and she wanted him vulnerable and stripped-down, just like her. She dug her fingers into his back, dragging her nails up just hard enough to leave tracks.

Fitz hissed and reflexively jerked away from her fingers and subsequently, deeper into Jemma. “Jesus, woman,” he gritted out, his breath ragged and uneven as he loosed her hips. Fitz caught hold of her arms, pushed them up over her head and pinned her wrists there, long fingers wrapped securely around the fine bones of Jemma’s wrists. When she didn’t resist, he adjusted so he could hold both wrists in one hand, the other returning to wander Jemma’s body restlessly. 

He was thinking less and less about perfection and the ‘right’ thing to do, his body taken over by instincts and biology.

She hadn’t realized she had a thing for that, but when Fitz gathered her wrists and pinned them, something clicked, and all the muscles in her neck and back relaxed, while everything from her stomach down went tight. She heard the high whine she let out as her head tilted back, and she pressed up into his hand like a cat. He was losing grasp on those tight reins, and she loved it. She loved making him let go. She loved how his thrusts were getting rough, his breathing harsh and ragged. And he was reacting to her, too, still aware and listening and responding.

If she could stay right there forever, in this moment where they were both burning, both losing their attachments to logic and reason, sinking into the fray of passion and instinct and lust, she thought she just might do it. She didn’t need the peak of pleasure, but this vulnerable intimacy, the extreme and physical evidence of their cerebral and emotional closeness. She could just stay there, being with him, letting him take what he wanted and give what she asked for, and maybe doing the same for him, the way they always seemed to work.

Jemma’s head rocked back and Fitz took immediate advantage of the long line of skin exposed, running his tongue up from her clavicle before setting his mouth against her skin and leaving a love bite behind. That alone was a sign of how little he was thinking in that moment, otherwise he’d never have marked her somewhere it’d be visible to the team in the morning. 

Overwhelmed by everything he was feeling - not just the lust and intense pleasure of sex on its own, but that it was Jemma with him, sharing this. Fitz’ muscles trembled, torn between tension and lassitude as he pushed them both further toward completion. It hadn’t been like this before, not this mindless _need_ for her. He groaned against her skin, dancing on the edge of orgasm. 

“Come on, Fitz,” she whispered, “come on…” She wasn’t sure if she was asking him for more, or asking him to let go, to spend himself inside her and let her watch the look on his face. She wanted to grab onto him, but her wrists tugged at his hand and his grip was too strong. The reminder that he was restraining her sent another unexpected spike of pleasure into her, tightening her very suddenly around him. Her orgasm rushed in with unexpected speed and force, and she breathed out all her air, arching back, her senses blotting out everything but the clamor of sensation as she clenched and spasmed and he rutted into her, renewing the sensation with every thrust.

It was too much and not enough; everything and nothing. When Jemma’s body shivered and trembled beneath his, a series of broken cries bubbling up from her mouth, he tried his best to keep going, instinctively trying to make it better for her. It wasn’t enough though. Fitz’ self-control was totally overwhelmed and offline. He managed a few more thrusts before burying himself in her, his face twisting with pleasure as he shivered and shuddered through his own completion. His fingers went slack over her wrists and somewhere in the midst of everything, he managed to catch her mouth in a frantic kiss. 

She’d come back to herself just enough to watch his face transform, the pain-like grimace going slowly slack and euphoric as he shuddered into her and she felt him release. Her hands moved up, tracing the sweaty curves of his cheek and jaw and bringing him down to her even as his mouth sought hers. And then they were kissing, continuing the journey of closeness a while longer as they caught their breath, still communicating with their bodies as the furor faded, exhaustion setting in around them with the slight return of awareness. She reached over to yank the edge of her quilt up over them, blocking out the chill air conditioning and winding them up in a cocoon of warmth and sleepy, satiated kisses.

Fitz’ hadn’t even noticed the cold, but clearly she had. He helped tug the quilt the rest of the way over, his body lax and probably too heavy to be laying on Jemma like this, but Fitz didn’t want to move just yet. He was still too swamped with feelings, both physical and emotional, to withdraw from her, either way. “Chris’, I love y’,” he murmured between kisses. 

She had wrapped him up in her arms and legs, twining around him like ivy on an oak, holding him against her as the sweat cooled between them and the hums and clicks of the bus resurfaced in her awareness. “I love you,” she managed to say, though it was tough to speak when he was trying to monopolize the use of her mouth. She kissed him back, her hands sliding up into his hair, then forward to stroke along his jaw like she had the very first time she’d kissed him, when she’d returned from Japan in near shambles for missing him.

She increased the pressure of her palms just enough to draw back, separating their lips almost completely and looking up, focusing on the nearness of his eyes. He’d always been there for her, and in a way, he’d always been hers, the twining of their souls--if there was such a thing--closer and deeper than anyone she’d ever met.

Like the ink now indelibly marking her skin, he’d become a part of her she couldn’t erase, couldn’t remove, and didn’t want to. He’d changed her in ways she hadn’t realized she could be changed, not by force, but by the influence of his existence, and he made her better. He made her stronger and more beautiful and smarter. He was the ultimate complimentary force. She stroked her thumbs along his cheekbones, looking back and forth between his eyes in a sort of disbelief that, of all people, she would be so lucky to find a person that made her so much more than herself. “Thank you,” she murmured against his mouth. “For being mine.”

The corners of his eyes crinkled as he smiled down at her, “Y’ never have t’ thank me for tha’. If i’ wasna for you, I wouldn’ be here.” Fitz understood though. He’d once spent a lot of time thinking about how his life would be different without Jemma in it, and hated the image he’d found. They’d saved each other in a lot of ways, although he thought Jemma might have fared better without him than he would have without her. He’d been too quiet, too shy and introverted when he’d arrived at the Academy and had an impossible time making friends with anyone. 

His expression soft, he brushed a much gentler kiss over her mouth, lingering. 

She sighed, accepting the softness of his lips against hers with a spreading glow of contentment. She relaxed her arms, one hand finding his sweaty back and running softly up and down it, thinking absently of the clockwork and wire tattoo he’d had in her dream that night, when his little drone had found her, sent his voice into her ear and translated him into her dream of tattoos and drugged pain. Her hand stopped moving.

“I bet we messed up all that careful painting you just did,” she whispered. “Unless all that ink dries very fast.”

Fitz made a face. “I hope i’ dried… i’ will take weeks to come out if it smeared. Is no’ like anyone will see i’ but us, but still…” He tried craning his head to look without getting up, but gave up after a moment. “Ah well. Is nothin’ we can do abou’ i’ now.” Fitz reached up to cup her cheek, his thumb stroking her lower lip. “You’re beautiful, y’ know tha’?” 

“Occasionally someone reminds me,” she said, tilting her head into his touch. “He’s good about that.” She lifted her head and kissed his neck, then pressed her mouth to his ear. “So what are you going to paint tomorrow?”

The corners of his mouth tipped into a gentle smile. “No’ entirely sure. I’m thinkin’ abou’ the cherry blossoms, maybe. Or th’ chemical compounds they worked int’ th’ design.” There was just so much ink, he could pick and choose as he liked, really.

“Mhmm,” she said. “Well. We might want to find a way to be a bit quieter about it. I just hope everyone was very occupied, very far from the bunks, because I wasn’t thinking much about being overheard. Not that anyone would care it was happening in general, I just don’t think they’d appreciate the...lack of discretion?” She slid her hands down his back, pressing them under his shoulder blades as she relaxed back into the pillow, shifting him a little in her arms. “Or maybe you can install some soundproofing. If you haven’t already.”

Fitz flushed, his skin warming against hers as the smile slipped off his face. “Oh, shite,” he sighed, “I wasna thinkin’...” He dropped his head to bury it against her neck. He wasn’t embarrassed about being with Jemma, but his innate sense of privacy and knowing certain people on the Bus would give him hell about it made it uncomfortable. “I’m sorry, Jem. I probably can come up wi’ some sor’ o’ soundproofing.” 

She smirked and kissed his neck. "Pretty certain it's not going to be a problem this time."

He sighed against her neck, “Is over an’ done, I know. But still… I havena forgotten abou’ something like tha’ before. Is… disrespec’ful, t’ you an’ to th’ team.”

"I'll take that as a compliment," Jemma said, grinning and rubbing his back. "Putting you out of sorts is not easy when you're focused."

“Tha’s no-” Fitz started to reply and then stopped to give her a faint smile. “O’ course, y’ would think this is a good thin’.” He shook his head and settled down again, one hand tracing up and down Jemma’s arm, fingers trailing over her cooling skin. 

She chuckled. “I like having that effect on you. Didn’t realize I did. Good to know.” She stretched a little under him. “Do you think they’ll miss us if we just stay here a little while?” she asked, stifling a yawn. “If they ask, we can tell them we were involved in a very intense paint-by-numbers.”

Fitz sighed, “Maybe a li’l longer. I tol’ Skye a couple hours, bu’ is no’ late enough for us t’ lose the whole evenin’.” His tone was clearly disappointed. He’d much rather have the quiet time with Jemma than go make up for the lost time in the lab. It wasn’t like they weren’t already ahead of their work anyway. 

“A little longer, huh?” Jemma said, drawing her fingers through his sweaty curls, a slow grin spreading across her face. “However will we pass the time?”


End file.
